


Choices

by silentsoundy



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsoundy/pseuds/silentsoundy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in his quiet solitude, the weight of Soundwave's functions and directives become too much to endure, physically and psychologically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> ||a stand-alone RP that was started some time back that I hadn't finished, but hope to here. The events here ocured during his main timeline and plot, showing those that followed the RP patches of the Muse's life before Transformers: Prime. As with a previous piece of mine, there were several posts made, which I've combined here for easier reading||

This was by far the worst he’s ever found himself. At least internally, this time. Although truth be told, he would much rather go through weeks of repairs than have to deal with fragmented memories mixed in with broken code and encrypted data. To call the cacophony inside his cortex a living nightmare would be quite the understatement, given the fact that as every klik passes, the recall and the reality become more difficult to discern one from the other.

And so he’s left to decide what lucid state to fall into.

Not so long ago, he had the resources of the Nemesis to assist him with routine preventative maintenance, databases and external storage, assisted processing and just time. Time enough to be able to shut down for a few moments, to be able to swap and defragment and repair and rewrite and… and… and…

And all of that was gone. Two Earth years he’s gone without but expected to carry on as before and it’s finally caught up to him.

But this was expected. He knew this was inevitable and thus had prepared a few minor redundancies, written a few extra algorithms and protocols that would kick in at this precise moment, or one like it.

An autonomous, unassisted and total system crash.

As his cortex repairs itself, his systems continue the defragmentation processes and his frame fidgeting with the minor and minuscule repairs, a small, independent program is sent a run command.

His consciousness, who he is, that lucid, aloof, only-sometimes-an-aft mech is reawakened to face a choice.

Has it become too much for him?

Is he capable of continuing?

A choice between remaining offline and giving up, or allowing the repairs to continue and moving forward.

The killswitch protocol has been initiated, and now it runs him through memories that will make him choose.

\-------------------------------------

He couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that the Senator was going to meet him before his match to discuss the possibilities of further rendezvous and actually stay throughout and celebrate his inevitable victory afterwards.

They were making progress. They were being noticed by the council!

And it was all thanks to that connection Megatronus had. That one particular archivist that has friends in all the right places.

He rose from that metallic bench as he was pinged a notification and headed towards an impromptu meeting area that was hastily set up as their meeting was kept on the down-low, a simple private affair with a few key gladiators and the Senator. He paused just before, steadying himself and mentally reciting what he wished to say.

First impressions, so important.

With a curt nod towards Megatronus, indicating he was ready, the silver gladiator gestures a massive servo towards him.

"Senator! I’d like you to meet a very close associate of mine.

"Soundwave, this is Senator Shockwave…"

\-------------------------------------

"Senator, a moment of your time please…"

His voice. His voice, why was this so strange, so alien? The memory plays before him as crisp as reality. Now he remembers, and the ache makes him want to turn away, yet he’s forced to watch on, for a decision he must make…

Those deep blue optics from that looming grey mech give him a knowing look, a nod of that great silvery helm gives him approval. But he doesn’t need it, never asked for it. He did what he did because…

Returning that look with his own violet optics casting Megatronus an even glance, he turns to the Senator motioning away from their little group as their meeting was breaking up, one of the last underground rendezvous before their appearance before the high council. They had agreed upon the tactic of approach, the speech to be given, the party that was going to be involved and the inclusion of the Senator to back up their cause.

It was all starting to fall into place and in an orn or two, after what seemed like an eternal struggling of failed plans and dead ends, they would be heard…

He lead the way as the group dispersed the Senator following close behind yet far enough away not to raise any petty suspicion. They rounded a familiar corner, trod down a familiar alleyway, stepped into a familiar shadow, and soon enough a dorsa was pressed against that metallic wall, equally heavyset chassis rumbled and ground against the other, with servos searching greedily… 

"Soundwave…"

"Shockwave…"

…

The Senator grips the back of his helm and pulls him into a rough helm bump and nuzzle as their spark chambers respectively seal themselves, to which he expresses himself with a indignant snort and tries to pull away halfheartedly. The Senator laughs as the light fades out from between their chassis and looks into his optics with a cheeky grin.

"Come now, Soundwave, at least a little affection is warranted. Life for us will be changing drastically very soon and I’d like to remember these little encounters you and I have before things become… chaotic."

…and the memory fades and he is left… brooding.

\-------------------------------------

Deception.

"He lied, Soundwave. He cheated me of…”

The grey mech stalked swiftly from the council’s hall with him following behind, the loyal confidant, listening to the rantings and rumblings he knew were just the beginning. With the focus on their supposed ally, who was no doubt drowning in his own accolades and confusion after his speech, their little party knew they had to make haste and leave as discretely as possible to ensure the focus remained far from them at this point.

The surprise came to him only when the archivist was named Prime, not when Megatronus was denied the right to lead. He knew, that in the heat of the moment, the gladiator would have been refused. It was screaming from every micron of the mech’s frame, the frustration and bare anger as he slowly lost the council’s confidence with every passing word. The speech he had given ended poorly, the grey mech had come on too strong and in the end…  
Well, there it was… The one who’s words had held promise, who had vowed to assist in any way he could, to bring light to their cause… That archivist who had only regurgitated Megatronus’s own words back at the council with a silver glossa and giving those bureaucrats what they wanted to hear. 

Those lies…

Thankful for his visor, he had concealed his own mounting disappointment and anger and just shook his helm once to rid himself of such distracting emotions. He had to stay focused. There was another detail to consider.

The Senator had never showed.

He had told the grey mech as much before his allocated time came upon them, yet Megatronus had decided to carry on without the Senator’s support. 

The mech couldn’t wait any longer.

What he had neglected to inform his fellow gladiator of was the lack of… communication he felt from Senator Shockwave. He simply could not feel anything, not one iota of a straggling pulse from their recent bonding. A detail he had opted not to inform Megatronus of.

It was this lack of connection that had concerned him the most.

And it made him feel as guilty as a traitor.

…

…he knows what’s coming next and all he can do is curl his digits into tight, angry fists…

\-------------------------------------

This one… This was not supposed to be… Not supposed to have happened like this… This one was the deciding factor… This one…

This was the one that had changed everything.

…

"Megatron! The right flank’s been obliterated…"

Reports kept coming in over encrypted comlinks as their ragged band of a few remained pinned down in the main section of this particular government’s facility. Their cover had been blown too early and only two thirds of the resistance’s forces were in place. It was indeed a hopeless situation. Yet they were closer to their goal than ever before. If only…

"Soundwave, I require the status of our extraction team…"

"Yes, Megatronus… One moment…"

A pivoting map flickers across his cracked visor with three friendly pings moving at a steady pace towards another signal, an unknown and terribly weak signal, yet one that confirmed life.

"The team: All accounted for, nearing target. Target’s stats are… Unavailable…"

The grey gladiator’s optics narrowed at the news, knowing that his comrade was withholding information from him, as he’s done in the past.

"Soundwave, if you’re…"

"Enough, Megatron, I have told you all I can. I… sense his presence, but nothing more than that. He has not reciprocated any of my previous… attempts and you’re insistence and goading has not changed that fact.”

He accentuates his point by curling his clawed digits into a tight fist and shaking it to punctuate his words then extends those talons to strike through the air in a swift, negating motion, ensuring the larger mech before him got his point.

Before the grey revolutionist can respond, a spray of heavy weapons fire shoots over their helms, forcing them to scatter and find new cover. Scrambling over servo and pede, their small squadron ducks, dives and rolls towards sturdier pillars, taking very little damage in the crossfire and returning cover fire to assist the few stragglers.

He being one of them. He had wanted to make sure that Megatron and a few others had made it before pitching himself forward in close pursuit. And that’s when the shriek of agony hit him.

Halfway to his new cover, what felt like jagged, white-hot lightning hit and shattered through his spark as a single scream of torment tore through him. His entire frame froze in mid-stride, arching back unnaturally with limbs splayed and servos flexing in the air. The perfect target. An explosive mortar round sunk itself into his heavily armored abdominal plating and…

"SOUNDWAVE!"

…oblivion. 

…

It was odd that the only pain he remembered was the cry of his bonded and not the shattering of his frame…

He would have preferred remembering the explosion over the sparkache…

\-------------------------------------

The previous memory fades like the rest, into a dimming swirl of inky darkness allowing him time to reflect or recover or both as per his killswitch protocol. After the previous memory’s shock of reliving that battle, there was little doubt remaining as to whether or not he required such a respite and was thankful to wallow in this darkness even if for but a few brief moments.

The memory queued up next flickers into a fog of hazy recall as his incorporeal self rights, forced to stand and watch the beginning of this bitter reunion…

... 

The lighting in the research lab is as sterile and stark as the tables and berths that surrounded him, yet all he can focus on was the static pulses pounding away behind his optics causing him to wince, grimace and bite back a throaty curse. All he can do is narrow his newly crimsoned field of vision and blink back the cloudy haze in an attempt to focus on the faces that loom over him.

"General, you have to sign off on these modifications…"

"That has already been taken care of. He and I had discussed this matter beforehand. Proceed! I require him to be fully functional, immediately!"

"But my Lord… These…"

A muffled cry, the striking of metal on metal, the clanging of a frame hitting the far wall and…

"I trust that you, Lobe, have no qualms or insignificant semantics to voice concern over?"

"No, my Lord Megatron."

"Excellent. Prepare your team and proceed as scheduled. Keep me updated."

"Yes, my Lord."

...

Throughout the following procedures, time was immeasurable. He’s forced online to test functionality, cognitive skills, reflexes, adaptability. Forced offline throughout successes and failures, laced with relief and agony mixed together in a single focused thought to survive.

The munitions explosion had torn him in two, ripping him and his symbiotes apart to be left for scrap, yet it was the will of his comrade, his fellow gladiator, his brother in arms that saved him, that single command of…

"He will live!”.

…that tore through the ranks and silenced all doubts.

And it changed him forever.

... 

He sits on the edge of his berth, gripping the cold metal with one awkward servo and staring down at the other, lifted palm upwards as he wriggles these slender, alien digits slowly almost in disbelief. He misses his claws, more for aesthetics than functionality.

He had been told just how much time had passed between the first procedure and now, yet he refuses to acknowledge it, thinking it insignificant now that he’s so close to functioning at full capacity. He’s gone through rigorous and extensive therapy to adjust to his new frame, his new form, his new re-purposed self and a silent itch at the back of his thoughts goads him on daily to want to just move on already and continue to serve the cause in the most efficient manner possible.

A chitter from a perch in the ceiling and a low, yammer curling around a pede reminds him of where he is, waking him from his brooding thoughts as a mixture of doubt, warmth, contentment, mock-disdain and slight impatience pour over his newly formed bonds to ignite a sense of self deep within his core.

"Laserbeak…" His optics flicker up to the ceiling as he raises a wing-blade and motions for the Deployer to come down. He knows what she wants. And she has no qualms making it known as she docks snug into his chest plates, sealing their bond.

"Ravage…" Another little malcontent yammer is directed his way as his second Deployer feeds him a snarky reply in reaction to allowing the flyer to dock before him. And it’s met with a few spindly digits digging into those certain set of armor plates that hits just the right spot, and soon enough he has the cybercat slinking behind him to dock in a most satisfied manner.

The Deployers were assigned to him immediately after the news of the termination of his previous ones in that explosion had reached him.  
Megatron had seen to filling those fractures in his spark in a hasty manner, however futile his ignorant gesture had been.

But having these two helps in their own way. Even if they do bicker. And are demanding. And should be recharging now, or so help him…

... 

This was a memory that had never truly faded from his mind. This one and many more of those quiet and not-so-quiet moments between his Deployers and himself, from their first meeting to their last docking…

He shakes his helm, for whatever good it did him in this fabricated world, and brings up a servo to hook those spidery digits into the empty shell that adorned his chest now.

Was it this memory that was supposed to convince him to continue to remain online?

Or was it the more recent one that…

\-------------------------------------

TBC. . .


End file.
